The Antelope
by MalllladeImaginaire
Summary: A short story about Tumblebrutus as the bosun on board the Thames Sailing Barge the "Antelope". xx


The wind whipped across the river, driving with it a freezing dense fog that shrouded the banks and hid them from view.

The barge was a Thames Sailing Barge, eighty-five feet long and at her widest point twenty feet across with a flat-bottomed, wooden hull with a degree of flair to the sides & plumb ends to allow her to cope perfectly with the conditions in the Thames Estuary, shallow waters and narrow rivers. She was spritsail rigged on two masts, the smaller of which was used only for a single sail to aid steering when tacking. The five sails were all a rusty-red colour, the hull was deep black. In good conditions she could even attain speeds of over 12 knots and her name was the Antelope.

As for the living conditions, the hold was made up of two small living areas, one in the bow, one in the stern, accessed through two large hatchways, the smaller of which was located before the main mast, the larger behind.

It was out of the smaller of these two hatches that Tumblebrutus had just climbed. Stretching and shivering slightly as the cold early-morning air hit him, the young cat padded over to the stern of the barge to where Grumbuskin was standing.

"Good morning, sir," he greeted the first mate, who merely shrugged and continued to glare out over the river.

Carefully moving past him, the young tom waved to Mohune, one of the able seamen standing the 0400 to 0800 watch with the first mate. The black and red streaked helmsman lifted one paw and returned the gesture, before focussing once more on the job in hand.

Mentally, Tumblebrutus went back over the work schedule for that day. They should be arriving in port early that morning and staying a few days while fresh cargo was loaded. First, he'd have to help with the cargo loading, then he'd scheduled in the rest of the day to go over and repair the rigging. Tomorrow the hull needed checking and possibly repairing and then the day after he had the day off.

Secretly, he was quite looking forward to the chance to get back to the Junkyard and catch up with his friends. However much he loved his life on the barge, the long spells away from home did make him feel rather homesick at times. He really missed his friends, especially Jemima. For some reason he couldn't help thinking about her sometimes. Well, quite a lot, actually. Recently he had started to think about her more and more, for no apparent reason. He missed all his friend, why would he think about her so much in particular?

A voice interrupted his thoughts. "All hands on deck, bosun," Growltiger snapped out behind him.

"All hands, sir," Tumblebrutus repeated and quickly pulled out his pipe to whistle a low note, followed by a high, both notes together taking one second, then a two second low note, a two second high note and a two second fade.

There was a brief scuffling and the sound of paws thudding on wooden planks, then the crew appeared assembled before the captain, some of them still looking half asleep. Only Mohune didn't assemble but stayed at the helm and Grumbuskin stayed next to him.

Tumblebrutus glanced over the rest of Growltiger's crew, cats he had come to think of in a strange way as a second family.

Stood at the back, leaning on the mast was old Morgan, the oldest crew member and the longest serving Able Seaman on board. The dark chocolate tabby was starting to go white around the nose, his voice was hoarse and his hearing was failing somewhat, but he was still a fine seaman and his knowledge of the waters around London was endless, as was his superstition. No matter what, Morgan always found something that foretold of bad luck and his constant warning were a matter of amusement to the rest of the crew. He was also rather headstrong, stubborn and opinionated and had a tendency to get grumpy quickly, especially in cold weather but underneath all that had a true heart of gold.

Next to him stood Karkinos, only a few years older than Tumblebrutus himself, a rather temperamental and fiery Ordinary Seaman who loved nothing better than fighting but was a great and reliable friend if ever the need arose. Already after only a few years at sea his dark reddish-brown coat was marred with countless scars and his ears were tattered and torn, his eyes deep-set with a constant angry glint in them and one of his incisors was badly broken, shattered in one of their raids on other vessels.

Gethin was the only other Ordinary Seaman on board and hovering half behind the mast. The half-Bengal tom was brave almost to a fault, playful and generally the "baby of the crew". He had only been a sailor for a few months and was the youngest crew member by quite a way. With a lot still to learn he was slow to realise when he'd gone to far and was constantly getting into trouble for his enthusiasmand thoughtlessness.He had an unfortunate habit of speaking and acting before thinking which was always getting him told off or, on occasion, the whole crew into serious danger. The crew in general regarded him as somewhat of a liability but a loveable one and were constantly trying to keep him out of trouble by covering up his mistakes or making up excuses for him. At home he still had a large family, parents, a sister and four brothers, who he talked about all the time and was very fond of.

Beside Gethin stood Pierre, the cook and steward on board the barge. He was French and very fond of telling anyone who would listen never-ending stories about his home town of Calais and the family he had there. He was small and rather rotund with little piggy eyes and a bright, genuine smile. Given to overreacting about everything and over-dramatising the smallest thing, whatever the blue and white tom said had to be taken with a pinch of salt. The smell of frying fish constantly lingered about his fur and he was usually to be seen carrying large cauldrons of soup, his favourite food, or enormous stacks of unnecessary laundry and was a fanatical perfectionist when it came to his duties on board.

Efficient, practical, neat, precise and fastidious were all words Tumblebrutus would have used to describe Smollett. His fur was black and white in a mask-and-mantle pattern which was so even it looked like it had been drawn on with a ruler and always spotlessly clean, no matter what the weather conditions or situation. He was a perfectionist, especially about his work, but not to an obsessive level like Pierre. Whatever job he was given it had to be done quickly, exactly and to a high standard. He never did anything unless there was a point to it and was a stickler for rules. In his time off he enjoyed practising his marlinespike seamanship, one of his weaker areas, and playing a small fiddle which he nicknamed Rosie. Of all the assembled crew he was the only one stood straight, not leaning on anything and looking attentive.

Out of all the crew, with the exception of Growltiger, Kainalu, another Able Seaman, was probably the one who looked most like a pirate. His fur was long and matted into dreadlocks in a sandy shade of brown. Through the fur tattoos were clearly visible, lots of them. Round his head he always tied a bright red bandanna and he wore a gold hoop in one ear. His mouth was a little too wide for his face, giving him the slight appearance of a Cheshire Cat and only one of his ice-blue eyes remained. Despite his fearsome appearance he was probably the kindest cat on board, gentlemanly, considerate and rather squeamish with a tendency to pass out at the sight of blood. He had once admitted to Tumblebrutus when highly drunk that he had loved pirate stories as a kitten, hence the ferocious, pirate-themed exterior. He still had an extremely old copy of 'Treasure Island' which he took everywhere with him as a good luck charm. Only when provoked could he turn rather nasty and slightly cruel.

Tumblebrutus glanced back over at the helmsman. Mohune was the fourth Able Seaman on board. His coat was streaked with black and red flashes and he had very sharp teeth and a malevolent expression. Not exactly a trustworthy character, Mohune had a tendency to be rather self-serving and loyalty was not something he valued very highly. Nevertheless, he was helpful (when he wanted to be), a good friend (when he chose) and better company, always ready to regale people with his interesting and witty anecdotes. He knew everyone and everything, was liked by most and always managed to get free drinks in whatever bar he chose to visit. All in all, Mohune was charming, likeable and totally untrustworthy.

Sneaking a surreptitious glance at Grumbuskin, Tumblebrutus went over what he knew about the first mate. Most of the crew looked up to him but knew nothing about him other than he had been a friend and ally of Growltiger's for as long as anyone could remember. He drank rather too much but was never drunk, was supposed to have had a tragic love affair with one of the queens who hung around the London docks when he was a lot younger and was particularly fond of raw fish. The grizzled brown and white tom was a hard taskmaster, very strict, not very forgiving and with a lighting-fast temper. He was brusque and grumpy to everyone and sometimes downright rude, often using his claws to put offending seamen in their place but was still highly respected by everyone he worked with. Apart from that, he didn't talk much and never socialised with the unlicensed members of the crew.

Growltiger was stood behind the young Jellicle, so he couldn't see him, but he could clearly picture the captain in his mind's eye. His fur was a greyish-brown colour, long and matted, he always wore a captain's hat although it was dirty, stained and faded and a tattered waistcoat of red and black. The patch over one eye did nothing to make him look less intimidating, neither did the long scar poking out from under it and extending right the way down to his jaw. His torn ear was a painful reminder of why he hated foreigners so much and his claws were chipped and uncared for. The normal expression on his face was halfway between a snarl and a smirk. Personality wise, he was very temperamental and a strict captain who insisted on the perfect running of everything on board. His punishments were harsh, bordering on unfair and he had a definite sadistic streak, which the crew sometimes had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of. He killed and destroyed without reason, simply because he wanted to and enjoyed watching the crews of ships they had taken over walk the plank. At the same time, he had a rather more gentle side. He defended his crew no matter what and valued their loyalty most highly, repaying them for it by being loyal to them in return. Often he would hand out rewards, such as extra rations, for no apparent reason or give them extra leave without anyone having to ask for it. His one weakness was that he was rather too fond of alcohol and queens.

Tumblebrutus was distracted from his thoughts once again by Growltiger's voice. "The barge's owner wants to ship some very important cargo from London to Calais." The master paused to glare at Pierre who had let out a delighted noise and clapped his paws. Quickly the blue and white tom fell silent again. "As I was saying," Growltiger growled, "this cargo is very important. We'll be in port for three days after that we're setting sail for France."

He spat the word France as if it were a swear word and Tumblebrutus guessed the captain's hate of foreigners wasn't just limited to certain countries. In fact, he suddenly wondered to himself, how had Pierre got a job on the Antelope at all when Growltiger couldn't stand foreign cats? Maybe it was down to his cooking, which was quite frankly irresistible. Quickly he shook himself out of his reverie again. Best not let anyone think he wasn't paying attention. Grumbuskin was already eyeing him suspiciously. The young bosun quickly turned his attention back to what the captain was saying.

"In port the cargo and anchor watches will be divided between the starboard and port divisions as usual. Starboard division as you know the officer of the watch is Grumbuskin, the watchstanders are Mohune and Smollett. I am the officer of the watch for the port division, watchstanders are Morgan and Kainalu. Today the port division will take the forenoon watch, the starboard division the afternoon watch, port the fist dog watch, starboard the last dog watch, port the first watch. The schedule will then continue as normal tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?" He glared at the assembled crew. "I don't want any mistakes like last time. If there are you will all suffer the consequences." His remaining eye bored into them, a murderous glint in it, almost daring them to make a mistake.

A murmur of assent rose from the crew and Growltiger continued: "The day after tomorrow any of you who are not watchstanders have permission to visit their families but must be back by 2100. Understood? We set sail for France at 0800 the next morning." He turned to Tumblebrutus. "Carry On."

Once more the young tom raised his pipe to his lips and signalled the crew to return to their duties by piping a two second warbling note.

"That's a Friday," Tumblebrutus heard Morgan mutter under his breath as the crew dispersed, "it's bad luck ter set sail on a Friday."

Kainalu laughed. "Well, we could always ask the captain to set sail a day early, just in case."

"What was that?", Growltiger whipped round to look at them a scowl on his face. Both toms froze in horror.

"Nothing, sir," Kainalu stammered, "we were just wondering, sir, if we could sail a day earlier o-or," he added hastily, "even a day later. It's just Morgan says it's bad luck to set sail on a Friday, sir." He gulped and Tumblebrutus saw him swallow visibly. Growltiger often had that effect on his crew. He always managed to make them feel nervous.

To everyone's surprise the master laughed. "Alright," the grey-brown tom snorted, "if it means that much to you." He raised his voice to a shout. "We sail on Saturday instead." And with that he turned on his heal and stomped back in the direction of his cabin without so much as backwards glance.

"Did he really just say that?", Karkinos asked in shock. "We get an extra day in port because of Morgan and his superstitions?" He looked disbelieving.

The older tom looked outraged. "It ain't just me!", he almost shouted. "Yor all as bad." The Able Seaman glared around at the rest of the crew before turning on Karkinos again. "And it's true anyhow. 'ooever don't believe it ain't got no sense. It's true I tell yer." By now he was actually shouting, his hoarse voice grating unpleasantly. "It's bad luck ter set sail on Friday and yer tryin' ter persuade me uvverwise ain't gonna do no good. I know wot I'm goin' on about and I won't 'ave a yungster like yer tellin' me wot ter believe. I've been sailin' for longer than yer've been alive, young Karkinos, so don't fink ter change me mind!" Furiously he stamped off into the bow of the barge and glared into the murky waters beneath them.

"He just yelled in my face!", the red tom was outraged. "He actually yelled in my face! How dare he!" He made as if to stride after Morgan a furious frown on his face.

Tumblebrutus quickly intercepted him. "Don't, Karkinos. It's not worth it, you know what he's like."

Karkinos still looked mutinous but allowed himself to be pulled away, contented himself with muttering some rather colourful insults under his breath and swearing at the Able Seaman. Tumblebrutus exchanged half amused, half worried glances with Kainalu and found that, at that precise moment, he was rather glad that old Morgan was going deaf.

At that moment Morgan whirled round. "Any road, so I've got proof," he cried triumphantly. " 'Ave a look yorself. There are dolphins followin' the barge. That's a good omen, that is. Wot did I tell yer?" He looked rather smug and very pleased with himself.

"It's alright, Morgan, we all know you're right," Kainalu soothed quickly, a slightly forced smile on his face making him look more than ever like the Cheshire Cat. "What were you telling me the other day? Some fascinating story about the sea-battle you were in when you were younger, was it?" Behind the old cat's back he winked at Tumblebrutus. They had all heard the story about a thousand times as it was a favourite of Morgan's. You could distract him from anything and keep him entertained for hours by asking to hear it. The problems was, once he got going there was no stopping him.

The young bosun gave the sandy tom a sympathetic shrug and turned back to the other sailors. "Ok, back to work," he called out.

Just as they were picking up their scrubbing brushes and buckets Tumblebrutus happened to glance up. Through the dense fog he could just make out the shape of buildings looming ever closer. London! Tumblebrutus' heart soared. He was nearly home. He'd be able to see his friends and family again soon. Feeling suddenly buoyed up and energetic he began scrubbing the deck with an unusual vigour and enthusiasm, the cold of the morning and the near-argument between Morgan and Karkinos completely forgotten.


End file.
